The Tale of Raz and Six-Eyes
by JMandalore
Summary: Thanks to Zack Finfrock, I've been allowed to tell the story of two small characters who appeared in the Fallout: Nuka Break web series: Raz and Six-Eyes. These two characters appeared in Episode 2 as Mayor Touch Conner's guards. I have been allowed to write this as I am the extra who played Six-Eyes. I hope you enjoy it and watch the series!
1. Chapter 1: New Orders

**Chapter 1: New Orders**

"Raz. Hey, Rasputin!" The sharp, metallic clangs of knuckle on steel did not help him ignore the harsh voice trying to rouse him from some much needed sleep.

"Five more minutes," he growled, chucking his pillow in the direction of the noise.

"Jesus, Raz, get up." Like thunder, the door swung shut after the dull _whump_ of pillow on concrete. "You're not going to want to be late."

Numb hands rubbing his cushion-creased face, Rasputin slowly sat up, and then cursed as his head knocked against the bunk above him.

"Why am I not going to want to be late, Will?" The man sitting opposite him, hunched over to avoid a similar mishap like Rasputin's, smiled wolfishly.

"Because you know how much Moore hates it when people are late."

"Ah, shit! What time is it?" Swearing again as his head grazed the raised bunk above his, Rasputin lunged underneath his own bed for his boots.

"Relax, it's oh six hundred." Will leaned back on the bed and interlaced his fingers. Raz turned and gave him a menacing look.

"The hell's the matter with you scaring me like that? Asshole…" Diving again under his bed, he continued his footwear expedition.

"Because you're so easy to fool, Raz. Honestly, how you made Lieutenant is a mystery to me. Any diversionary tactic of the Legion's going to throw you so far off your guard you'll get everyone under your command killed."

"That's not funny, Will." His grave tone was lost in Will's chuckle.

"God, you are not a morning person!" Will closed his eyes and he continued to giggle. "No sense of humor. Raz, you gotta lighten up a bit."

Finally finding his left boot, Raz sat on his mattress and began lacing it up once it was on his foot. He hadn't been sleeping well, which could have contributed to his sour mood, but often times Will's sense of humor was more directed at Raz's misfortune and over-attentiveness to regulation than general merriment.

"Well, I'll find a sense of humor when you get that snake out of your left pants leg."

Will shot up so fast his head bashed against the bunk and Raz rolled back laughing. Patting his leg down to find the imaginary serpent, Will's white face contorted in a red hue of embarrassment.

"_That_ was not funny!" shouted Will. Raz laughed jovially and nodded.

"It was a little bit funny." He held his thumb and forefinger close together just to illustrate how much "a little bit" really was.

Finishing his right boot and looking around for where his belt was draped, Raz stood up. Finding it at the post at the foot of his bunk, he strapped it around himself, side-arm and all, and brushed off his regulation gear. It wasn't a fancy outfit, just some good-ol' army regs. The tan color blended in well with the desert when trying to take cover for an ambush or stay unnoticed in a fire-fight. Caesar's Legion had it all wrong with their flashy colors and bulky armor. The desert was a harsh mistress, and she didn't like her soldiers wearing too much, otherwise she'd punish them.

Too many stories of NCR falling flat during marches due to exhaustion had helped them learn well that less was more. Some padding here and there, a helmet, and a rifle, that was all a soldiered needed in the New California Republic's army.

"Did you sleep in your gear again?" Will raised an eyebrow disapprovingly at Raz.

"Yeah, fits nice."

"No wonder that thing looks like it's worn to hell." Will stood up as well, his head only going up to Raz's chin. Will wasn't short, but Raz was a tall fellow. "Well come on, we're not getting any younger."

Pulling the door back, Will stepped into the dimly lit corridor and waited for Raz to do so as well before closing it behind him. While they were stationed at Hoover Dam, that didn't mean there was an abundance of well-maintained supplies and electrical equipment. The flickering lights overhead told them that without a doubt.

With their boots echoing around them in the cement corridor, they began the long march through the staff building that had been converted into a makeshift barracks for officers. The rest of the building was a smaller officer's mess.

Several steps down and they entered the open-floor room that served as the chow hall. Coffee slowly brewing wafted to their faces like a soft breeze on the Mojave. Will's eyes brightened as he headed toward the direction of the drink and Raz followed suit, needing the caffeine to prep him for his morning meeting with the colonel.

"Morning, sirs." The mess officer nodded to them stiffly as he put a tub of scramble eggs onto the counter.

"Ech, is this breakfast?" Will made a face at the rubbery-looking mass.

"Count yer blessings, sir. The enlisted folk got gecko bacon." Upon hearing this, Will's face turned much more appreciative, like a child feigning excitement at the wrong gift.

"Oh, well that makes it better, I guess." Shoveling eggs onto a plate, he sauntered over to a table with Raz mimicking him and following suit.

"Honestly, I don't know where we get these eggs and I don't want to." Raz took a forkful into his mouth and chewed discerningly.

"No you don't, sir!" the mess officer hollered across the room. Raz stomached another bite, then another and decided that the meal wasn't that bad.

Will ate just as slowly and skeptically, but in the end their hunger got the best of them as they finished their meals.

A coffee and a half later, they sighed happily. Raz still had time before his meeting, but not more than an hour.

"So what's this special meeting you have?" Lifting his coffee leisurely to his lips, Will peered at him over the mug.

"Not sure, but it can't be more than a routine assignment. We're still trying to figure out how many people we need to situate around the Wastes." Raz threw an arm over the back of his chair and sighed. "We put so much of our force here to stop the Legion that when it was all said and done, we realized that we were stretched thin everywhere else. I'm afraid we won't be able to recover because of the weak-points throughout the Mojave."

"You don't think that we'll be able to handle the Legion enough to reinforce our own positions?" Will took another sip.

"Well, we can't reinforce our positions if they never make it to their destinations. The Rangers help, but they're so small that the work they do is not nearly comparable to the work that a larger group of men can." Raz shrugged with one arm. Will nodded.

"We keep losing men while we try to reinforce, we'll run out of people so fast that the Legion can just sweep us up."

"Absolutely." Raz knocked back the rest of his coffee and shook his head. "The fact that Caesar can essentially bully so many people into fighting against us is almost unreal. Not to mention the trouble we have regionally with the Powder Gangers and the Great Khans."

Groaning, Will threw up his hands, "Alright, I get it." His palms hit the table heavily and the plates clattered in odd chorus. "Well, here's hoping that you don't get sent out there and you just have to handle some new recruits."

Raising his mug as if it were full of the finest liquor, he extended it to Raz, whom reciprocated and clinked them together in a toast.

"Amen."

* * *

After a few more minutes of small-talk, Raz bid Will goodbye and made his way outside to head for the forward administration building of Hoover Dam. The hot air of the Mojave Desert greeted him in a rush. Even at this early hour, the sun's fledgling rays were beating down heavily on the barren world.

Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the natural light, his ears picked up the sounds of enlisted men and women bustling about their duties. Several soldiers of Alpha Company, Raz's company, were assembled in an informal fashion outside as Sergeant White spoke to the group. Whatever he was saying was clearly hilarious as the men seemed to laugh on cue, as if watching some sort of routine.

One soldier noticed Raz walking nearby and smacked White on the hip. Looking to his right, White saw Raz and trotted over.

"Morning, sir!" Holding on to his helmet as it bounced, he greeted his commanding officer with a smile.

"Morning, Mr. White. Entertaining the troops again, I see." Raz gave a wry smile as he continued his powerful stride toward the main dam wall.

"Just keeping up morale, sir."

"Indeed."

"May I ask a question, sir?"

"Always, Dan. What's on your mind?" Raz cast a sidelong look at White who was struggling to keep up with his lengthy gait.

"Word around the camp is that Alpha might be deployed today."

"That's the word, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I wonder who could have said that."

"Lieutenant Boyle was walking around this morning after wake-up call and talking to some of the company."

"Oh was he?" Raz made a note to smack Will on the head later. He didn't want his men worrying about anything unnecessarily if they didn't have to. They were edgy just thinking about Legion counter-attacks and bad news from all over the Mojave.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, until I say otherwise, we're staying right here, Sergeant, so get back to telling your knock-knock jokes." Raz waved to White who saluted quickly and jogged back to the men who had been following their progress across the dam.

Men and women kept vigilant watch from makeshift towers and sandbag emplacements spaced sporadically along the dam wall. They could have been at the start or the tail-end of their shift and he couldn't tell. They all had the same haunted and nervous expression on their face of hoping against hope that they'll actually see something.

It only took a few more minutes for him to exit the wall that separated the majority of the dam with the makeshift barracks that were situated on top of it. In retrospect, if the dam was blown, almost the entire NCR force that was stationed at Hoover would most assuredly be killed. Then again, that was entirely tied to the idea that Caesar's Legion had the explosives to do that.

Soldiers here and there saluted him as they either saw his rank or knew him personally. Returning the gesture lazily, he set his eyes for his location. From where he was he could spy the admin building, another few minutes or so away. Looking at his watch, making sure that he was still going to be early, or at the very least on time, and quickened his pace.

The door was opened for him by the soldier on guard, a young woman he didn't recognize. She nodded to him, muttering a "sir" almost in an afterthought, and he strode into the dimly lit building. It was like walking into a cave. He had to squint for a few moments to make out details.

Raz needed to be upstairs, so he marched over to the stairway, nodding to the two guards who parted as he approached.

"She's waiting for you, sir," one said over his shoulder.

Jumping two at a time, Raz reached the second floor landing in under a minute. Checking his timepiece again he saw that he was early, and grinned to himself. A good soldier was always ready for orders before they were even given. And Raz was better than good.

Opening the double doors to the Operations Room, he nodded to several of the other officers who were milling about. Raised voices over the din could be heard while others murmured to each other in private discourse. Somewhere under hubbub, Mr. New Vegas could be heard giving a news report.

"Lieutenant Rasputin, glad to see you're more than punctual." Finding the source of the voice, Raz snapped to attention and saluted firmly.

"Lieutenant Rasputin reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant." He could see that she was pleased with his formality, but also with his gesture of eagerness.

Not many people got that much from Colonel Cassandra Moore these days, especially considering her distaste for this kind of work and her preference of combat. From what he heard she was a legend in her own right, and had she not been injured, she'd still be out on the front-lines with the rest of the men and women.

Raz shifted his stance and clasped his hands behind his back. Obviously, their meeting was a cue for some of the other officers to leave the room as at least three pairs departed at the sound of Moore's voice.

Stepping over to the map sprawled out on the table before her, Moore gestured for Raz to join her.

"I hear Alpha Company is one of our best groups." She never looked up from the map. Her voice was flat. It wasn't a question or a compliment; it was a statement of fact, a test to see if he would rise and show humility or pride.

"Alpha does what it's told to the best of its abilities, just like every one of our other companies, sir." Her nod told him that this was the answer she wanted to hear. Still with her eyes glued to the map, she pointed to a small colored marker that sat staring up at them from on the table.

Its sister stood out against the flat hills and valleys of the Mojave Waste to the north-west. Moore's other finger rested on it heavily now and she finally looked to Raz.

"It's a long trek from Hoover to McCarran. About four or five days by our estimates when traveling with a full company."

"That sounds about right, sir. Especially with a full company and assuming it doesn't attract any unwanted attention."

"If only." Leaning back, she crossed her arms and gave him a hard look. "I like your work, Lieutenant. You show promise. That's why I'm sending you and Alpha to New Vegas." Moore held a hand up to stop any sort of response from him and powered on.

"I understand that you feel you can do more good here where the action is. Believe me, I understand. The fact is that our citizens in New Vegas and the surrounding area are under more threats than Legion skirmishes. What with the Vipers, Jackals and all of the horrors that come out of Freeside, they need some order. Some solidarity from the NCR."

His eyes shifted downward as a runner hurried into the room and handed the colonel a clipboard. He could tell she saw his expression. Hers turned into one not of maternal empathy, but of professional control.

"I cut my teeth on these bastards back in the day, Lieutenant. Did you know that?"

"I did, sir."

"I know this room isn't a glamorous reward, but I have a good feeling about you Lieutenant. You get things done, you work hard and you've jumped into the fray with your people on more than one opportunity. You get it." Inside, he could feel his pride mending and Raz lifted his gaze a little more to meet hers again.

"You can make a difference for these people, Rasputin. You can help New Vegas." It was hard to deny that while Moore may be metaphorically behind a desk, she was more than just a pencil pusher. She could motivate and she wasn't a bullshitter. Moore's words were high praise.

"Well, sir, if you twist my arm any further I might not be able to hold my rifle." Rasputin grinned as Moore nodded firmly.

"Good man. And if you're worried about firepower, you'll be packing something extra."

"Sir?"

"I'm sending some Rangers with you." Raz lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "Camp Golf radioed this morning. Chief Hanlon wants a few of his people back from the dam to make a push on Fortification Hill."

"Is that wise?" Moore laughed humorlessly and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"He's a Ranger, Lieutenant, that question really doesn't apply to him and his kind."

Nodding, Raz snapped to attention again, saluting briskly.

"Well, sir, if that's all, I'll brief my men and have them prep for an early march tomorrow morning."

"You leave at oh fifteen hundred _today_, Lieutenant. Have your men prepped and ready in front of this building by then." Moore looked back at the clipboard that the runner handed her moments ago. "The Rangers will be there waiting for you. Because of the nature of this assignment you'll be doing half-day marches and half-night marches. We need to keep them cool and we can't lose time."

The sudden realization of how badly Moore needed them in Vegas hit Raz as he heard all of this. Things were either going very very wrong in Mr. House's personally paradise of sin and vice, or the NCR was dying slowly without its soldiers even realizing it.

* * *

Hours after breaking the news to the people under his command, Raz stood opposite the two statues that sat grimly by the stretch of road the twisted and winded wickedly out towards Boulder City and into the perilous heat of the Mojave Wastes.

The light armor felt like a soft embrace of protection over his chest and shoulders. His helmet sat tilted back on his head, goggles around his neck, and the drums of shotgun shells hung at his sides. Hefting the shotgun in his hands, Raz surveyed Alpha Company.

They took the news well-enough for people who had just been told they were going to march through the desert with a high probability of being attacked to finally end up at New Vegas where they would be fighting urban warfare at its worst.

Off to the left, milling in a semi-formal group, were the Rangers that were to accompany them on their journey. No uniform seemed to give them a cohesive feel. That came from the smiling faces and lively conversation that bubbled out of them.

Seven in total, they wore crimson berets and cowboy hats. Light gear and thick boots covered their athletic frames. Each had a rifle strung over their back and a different side-arm at their hip. The only things that each member had was an emblem of a bear on its hind legs somewhere on their clothing or hat, and a pair of thick mirrored sunglasses.

It was believed that the shades were used to protect their oh-so-important eyesight from the harsh light of the desert. If that was true, one of them was taking his eye protection a little too seriously. He still wore his glasses, even in the waning light of the sun and had a pair of goggles hanging from his neck too, ready to switch out at a moment's notice. Did he really need those? He couldn't even read his face to tell if the extra pair of eyewear was out of humor or seriousness as the lower half of his face was covered with a kerchief.

Sergeant White made his way up to Raz and saluted.

"Everyone's present and accounted for. They've got rations for the march as well as the gear to do some water capture at night."

"Good thinking, Dan. We're traveling with the lake to our right but going near that beach at night could be hazardous. Lakelurks don't like people much."

"You think they'd come after such a large group" The sergeant looked back worriedly to the assembled soldiers.

"I doubt it, but if the worst happens, we should be prepared for it. We'll keep watches on the shoreline just to be safe." White nodded and threw up a hasty salute as he went to his squad. The other sergeants began to rouse their teams and prep them for moving out. They had only a few minutes left.

Ranger Grant's presence became apparent as the other Rangers began to shuffle about anxiously and stare in Raz's direction. Looking behind himself, he saw the eye-patched man striding over.

"Lieutenant." His salute was a formality. No sincerity lived inside of it. Grant was not a friendly man, nor was he a kind one. The fact that he was out today meant that his interest in the mission was personal. With the Rangers part of Raz's expedition, it made sense.

"Ranger Grant, what can I do for you?" Raz nodded and saluted firmly to the man, turning his stance to face him more directly.

"I just wanted to thank you for letting my men come along with you." He really didn't. At least, he didn't sound like he wanted to. "They may have been able to get there faster on their own, but the likelihood they would _all_ survive is questionable."

"Well, Alpha is more than up to the task of keeping everyone here safe and making sure we all get to where we're going." Raz jerked his head in the direction of the company and Grant nodded stiffly.

"See that they do, Lieutenant. Thank you for your service." He saluted again, a practiced motion. Turning on his heel, Grant went back inside the admin building. Colonel Moore exited as he entered.

"Everything ready, Lieutenant?" She looked at her watch. "You leave in a minute."

"We're all prepped, sir."

"Good. Move them out and keep a good pace." Moore saluted him now, and Raz returned it gratefully. The gesture from her was more meaningful and much more rare. "I'll expect a radio from you when you reach McCarran."

"Yes, sir." Raz nodded to her as she stepped past him to address those assembled directly. Raising her voice above the din, she spoke out as if this was the last time she'd see any of them. As if this was the last day of the war.

"Today, all of you move out to New Vegas. While I know that some think that gambling and excitement await you at your final destination, know that you will all play a vital part in the safety and security of our citizenry there. You are soldiers first, people second. You took an oath to protect those who chose to be people first. Do not fail them, and do not fail yourselves."

Her tone said more than she actually did. Somber, flat, and grim. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Moore did not have high hopes for the mission, and sending in Alpha was a tug-of-war on her better judgment.

If Alpha made it to McCarran, then she would have lost one of her best companies at the dam. If Alpha didn't make it, then the entire NCR would have lost one of its best companies, and another weak link in the chain would appear.

Before turning her back on those soldiers who stood stock still in straight lines, she saluted each and every squad individually. Even the Rangers returned the gesture grimly, if a little informally.

"Alright, listen up! We walk in lines of two and we stick together. Keep your salt pills handy and drink your water sparingly. We may be walking next to the lake but do NOT go get a drink unless a CO tells you." Raz stepped in Moore's place as she left and shifted his voice to an authoritative one.

"We want to make it there in as short as time as possible and in one piece. Keep your eyes peeled and your wits about you. The Mojave kills the unprepared. And we won't be unprepared, will we?"

He was rewarded with an enthusiastic "NO, SIR."

"Good. Squad leaders, move'em out!" At his word, shouts rang out along the lines as they formed and the first squads began to march along the destroyed road out of Hoover Dam's protection.


	2. Chapter 2: Fires in the Night

**Chapter 2: Fires in the Night**

Marching like this was never fun. It was against everything the Rangers ever taught him, and to be honest, the size of their group was so dangerous that it almost certainly guaranteed that they would be attacked.

It wasn't the fault of the soldiers that they had to travel like this. It wasn't even their superior's fault. It was Caesar's Legion's. Those bastards had caused so much trouble lately that they made precautions and exercises like this necessary.

Running a hand through his short hair, Cliff Rollins strode alongside his Ranger companions in a two-by-two line. Camp Golf was a long way away and these afternoon-night marches were not going to help pass the time any better. By the time they all adjusted their sleep cycle to fit with the trek, they'd be at their destination and have to change it all over again.

Of course, they could just not sleep and continue on for about four or five days. That wasn't uncommon but it certainly wasn't fun or advised.

"I'm telling you, we should just leave them behind in the night and head on." The voice of the Ranger in rear came up through the line like a hushed wind in the night.

"You know, Phil, with ideas like that it is indeed a wonder that you're still alive." The woman next to Cliff spoke and the others chortled on cue.

"I'm serious, we don't need them. This large of a group is bound to get Caesar's hounds on our ass." Phil sounded unreasonably nervous. Really, he was just being more practical and honest about their situation.

"Six-Eyes, buddy, c'mon you gotta see what I'm saying right." Claire, the woman next to Cliff gave him a sidelong glance as Phil pleaded with him, and he could feel the eyes of the other Rangers on his back.

"I think you should just stay quiet and keep the wind in your lungs. If trouble does happen, you're gonna need it for all the shouting you always end up doing." He had to speak up so his voice could carry through the kerchief around his lower-face.

Claire nodded sagely and he knew that he had at least defused the situation for now. He didn't want Burt, the Ranger directly behind Cliff, to get involved. If he did, things would never end. He just wanted to keep the peace while they marched. It was the only luxury they could afford.

He had earned the name Six-Eyes a few years ago. When he had first got his pair of mirrored shades, he never took them off. Finding it impractical to wear them at night, Cliff realized that he needed some other form of eye protection that wasn't just fashionable, but at least versatile. The pair or standard issue NCR goggles around his neck were just the thing.

As a sharpshooter he needed unhindered vision and to keep his eyes from working too hard. The only other person whose eyes he trusted more than his was Claire, his spotter. On the field of battle, she could scan the area to pick out potential threats and likely targets.

This symbiotic relationship defined Ranger sniper teams. You watch my back, I'll watch yours. Each was a skilled and seasoned fighter, but they all had specialties and weaknesses. Cliff's was that while he would make a good spotter, he would try too often to kill the target himself than point it out to his gunner. That put blinders on him and his partner and was far more dangerous than the double-killing power that his team would benefit from.

Somewhere down the line of NCR regulars, a soldier had started singing. Recognizing the song from one of the thousands of times it was played on the radio in the Mojave, the Rangers chanted along during the chorus.

"Big iron on his hiiiiiiiiip..."

"You guys think that this push on the Fort is a good idea?" Cliff tossed the question over his shoulder idly as the song continued from behind their column. The Rangers were just outside of the main lines so that if things got dicey they wouldn't be caught up in the frenzy of looking for cover.

"Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do and die, Six. You know that." Burt spoke up and his companion astride him chuckled. "Hanlon's got a plan and that means we guinea pig until he's satisfied. We die in the process? That means another team will succeed from our failure."

"God, that's depressing," Claire exhaled, frustrated. Again, the chorus rang out along the line and the Rangers joined in.

"Big iron on his hiiiiiiiiiip..."

To their right was the only thing worth looking at. The man-made body of water wasn't impressive or stunningly picturesque; it was more interesting than the bleak and endless monotony of sand and rock that lay to their left.

The sun's rays caught the tips of miniature waves that rolled along the surface, disturbed by the dry wind which blew along the desert. The waves lapped lazily on the shore, the way children sort of just rolled around on the floor when they were tired. Too weak to move but not so weak that they couldn't be seen or heard.

This was the world they lived in. A cruel and merciless nuclear wasteland full of deadly, mutated creatures and twisted individuals bent on killing each other. Miles and miles of sand and rock and desert. Ants the size of dogs and wasps that could kill you with a single sting of their foot-long barb.

At times, Six-Eyes liked to wonder what the world was like before the war. He could imagine that the desert might have remained unchanged, but the wildlife wouldn't be nearly as deadly, or at least not quite so large. Caesar's Legion wouldn't exist, at least not in the form that it currently took. People always tried to dominate others; it was a fact of life.

McCarran and Nellis Air Force Base were merely reminders of the technology that used to exist in that bygone era. Flying vehicles that could transport a person away from this terrible desert.

It was nice to daydream.

"One and nineteen moooooore..."

Six-Eyes missed the latest chorus and Claire notice.

"Cap for your thoughts?" Six glanced quickly to her and then forward again.

"Just thinking about things that don't matter. Nothing important."

"What a surprise." A couple of the Rangers laughed at Phil's quip.

"I swear to God, Phil, I'll go back there and slap you so hard you'll have to look up to tie your shoes." The rest of the group laughed.

Ahead of them, the lieutenant in charge looked back. His furrowed brow and quizzical look either meant he was disapproving or bewildered that soldiers could entertain themselves in the face of impending danger.

"What's he looking at us for?" Burt spat.

"Probably thinks we're making too much noise," Claire offered.

"The whole column is singing!" Burt gesticulated wildly at the soldiers and his gun clanked against his belt. "Here," holding up a hand as the chorus picked up again, he shouted,

"After Texas Red!"

Groans of disapproval from the other Rangers met his terrible display of individuality and rebellion while some of the soldiers in the column next to them chuckled at his outburst.

To their left, the sun began dipping behind the mountains that crested the horizon of the Mojave Wasteland. His internal clock told him it was time to swap his eyewear. Quickly removing the sunglasses and placing them on his collar, he pulled the goggles up and adjusted them on his face. The pressure took a few seconds to get used to, but eventually they became comfortable enough that he didn't feel it.

"Gonna be a long march," Claire bemoaned as they continued on to their destination.

* * *

Some people only focus on the heat of the desert, about how it can sap the life out of you and dry you into a husk as you walk. How a parched stretch of land can seemingly go on for infinity without making you feel as if you've made an inch of progress.

What those people neglect to mention, is the cold, the bitter, numbing cold of the desert. The dry ground doesn't keep heat well, couple that with the lack of water vapor in the air and you've got a night full of shivering and teeth-chattering.

Thus, campfires.

There wasn't a lot on the Mojave that you could burn to make a flame, but near that lake there was enough to make a dozen small conflagrations that each squad could huddle about. The Rangers tended to their own, a silent circle around the flickering flames.

As they had marched on during the first half of the night, the ground lit only by flashlights that the commanding officers carried, Six had looked across the banks of the lake in an effort to spot the lights of Fortification Hill.

While training at Camp Golf, they had often taken trips out to the beaches of the lake to lay on the sand with binoculars and spy on the Legion. It was a harmless exercise in patrolling and preparedness, but a constant reminder that the enemy was never so far away that you couldn't see them.

From their location, he couldn't spot it, but he knew without a doubt that the torches burned bright at Caesar's camp. There, where the enemy of free people lived, sat the man who was trying to conquer an already dead world that was struggling to regain civilization and life.

Everyone has to have a hobby.

A lone harmonica sounded off in the distance from one of the fires and Burt groaned.

"Do we have to be that cliché? Honestly?" A chuckle rippled through the group. "We can't just walk through the desert and not have someone play a guitar, or harmonica, as we all stare wistfully at a fire?"

"What's the matter? Thinking of Ma and the homestead again, Burt?" Claire stuck her tongue out at him between her grin and the rest laughed on.

"Lights out!" The call came down the line of fires and several began to wink out of existence as the words echoed out. Phil stood and began to shovel dirt onto the flames to choke them. The rest of the Rangers settled into comfortable sleeping positions. Much to his protests, Phil had drawn first watch.

An enlisted man came over to their circle and handed Phil a flashlight, whispering something about only using it to escort anyone who needed to heed the call of nature, or check on suspicious noises.

Six closed his eyes and bundled himself in the scratchy wool blanket that was stuffed into his pack. The heat of the embers would last for some time, and luckily they were sleeping in the tail end of the night and not the whole thing. The earth would soon warm as the sun's light reached it.

That would, admittedly, make it harder for them to sleep, but the forced march had taken a lot out of everyone, especially as their bodies rebelled against the need for sleep during the first half of the night.

Exhaustion overtook him, and he slowly drifted off.

* * *

Noise. There was a noise in front of him and he knew that it shouldn't be there. What was it?

Parting his eyelids with difficulty, Six-Eyes tried to see through his misted goggles. The heat and moisture of his face had trapped itself in the space there. Lifting one goggle up momentarily to let the humidity escape, he could make out a single figure hunched over.

Whoever it was, they were swearing under their breath and shaking something in front of them.

"Phil?" The dry sound from his voice croaked out softly and the figure froze.

"Six? You awake?"

"Obviously." Sitting up on one elbow, Six tried to see what was happening more clearly.

Phil had turned from his crouched position and in his hands was a flashlight.

"The hell are you doing?" Phil's eyes darted about, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. It was that odd, reverse twilight of the morning, just before the sun became really bright, that made it glint on his face.

"I thought I heard something, so I was trying to turn on the flashlight to check it out when the batteries died." Phil waggled the flashlight in his hand to indicate the offending item.

"Are the batteries dead?" He shrugged at Six's question.

Opening his mouth to inquire further, Six just shook his head and un-propped himself on his elbow.

"Look, it's my watch, just...just give me the flashlight and cover your arms and face with the blanket." Making a groaning noise as he crunched to sit upright, Six passed the woolen cover to his compatriot and stood. His muscles ached and he made a face of displeasure. Gratefully, Phil took the blanket and covered up his exposed skin to prevent sunburns.

Finding a suitable rock to sit on, Six plopped himself down and rubbed his face underneath his goggles. He'd have to switch them out soon. The sun would be up and he wouldn't want to be looking around for suspicious activity without his protection.

Making sure that his kerchief covered his ears too, he adjusted it on his face. Rolling down his sleeves to protect his own arms, he nodded. Now all he had to do was sit and wait till midday.

Around him, he could see other soldiers waking up for the change of the watch. He waved to a few who saw him as well.

Then, something caught his eye.

While donning his sunglasses, a glint off in the distance made him do a double-take. Had Phil actually seen something?

There it was again. This time it wasn't a glint, more like a flash. A small, pinhole-sized bit of light flashing across the lake.

"Hey. Hey!" Six hollered at the closest sentry, a man eating some kind of army ration. The fellow looked up with half the bar in his mouth and gave Six a quizzical look.

"You see that?" Extending his arm and forefinger in the direction of the light, he indicated what he was trying to show him. The man turned, and as soon as he did, the light stopped blinking.

Of course.

The soldier gave him an exasperated expression and shook his head as if to say, "No, I don't."

It was strange, had it been any other time of the day, he wouldn't have seen the light, but the morning twilight provided the perfect atmosphere.

Very strange indeed.

* * *

The wake-up call came at about noon. Down the line came the shout of "Up and at'em!" Six wet his throat with water from his canteen before parroting back to his squad, who stirred for a few moments, and then began the arduous task of waking up.

None of them had gotten enough sleep since the sun had risen. Phil probably less so than most. Claire washed her mouth out with water and Burt stood, cracking his knuckles and neck. The hard ground had done none of them any of favors as far as back support and stiffness.

The lieutenant came down after inspecting his own men and nodded to Six-Eyes briefly before addressing the group.

"Morning."

"Morning, sir." Six gave a lazy salute, as did those who were facing the direction of the lieutenant.

"We're going to keep the same pace as yesterday." Six nodded. "Did anyone see anything strange on their watch?"

Turning to look at Phil, Six waited for him to speak. Oddly enough, Phil seemed intent on lacing up his boots properly and checking his pack. Six narrowed his eyes at the man under his glasses before turning back to the officer.

"I saw something across the bank this morning. Flash of light. Could have been something reflective or electric."

"Can you show me where?" The lieutenant looked back across the banks of the lake in the hopes of spotting the anomaly himself.

"Can't rightly say where, but you're looking in the right direction, sir. Saw it for a few seconds before I didn't again.

He stood still for a few more minutes before looking back to Six-Eyes and nodding. Hefting the shotgun on his shoulder-strap, the officer took a deep breath and looked around the campsites.

"Well, if you see anything like that again, have someone inform me, Ranger. It could be nothing, like you say, but in the event that it _is_ something, we just want to be prepared. I'll notify the other squads to be on the lookout for something similar. Good work."

"Thank you, sir." Six saluted a little more firmly and the lieutenant turned on his heel and continued down the line.

"You really see something?" Burt crouched next to Six and spoke in a hushed tone.

"Can't be sure, like I said, but there was definitely something." Burt nodded and stared off into the distance across the lake.

"Said it was like a flash, right?" Six nodded. "Okay. We'll keep eyes on it during watch." Standing, he walked over to help one of their fellow Rangers with his bag. Six stood as well, and began preparations for the day's march.

* * *

An uneventful day, to be sure. They had marched until the sun went down and the night grew dark. The Rangers had continued their small-talk every other hour or so while the regulars chanted song after song off of Radio New Vegas.

Burt would have screamed in protest when they began to repeat themselves if Claire had not calmed him down.

During the day, the lieutenant had come back down the line to check in with the squads. There was something to be said for an officer that takes care of his soldiers. It showed commitment, a personal investment in the lives of those under his command. That was the mark of a seasoned and good leader.

What was his name, again? Rasputin?

There was this idea that by not checking on your squads that you could lose them more easily because you had no connection with them. It didn't cut at you when you ordered some of them to their deaths. You were able to move on.

Real strength came from the ability to cope with that pain and learn from it. The trick to keeping them alive was getting to know the soldiers. If you knew them, you could trust them and they would _want_ to fight for you. This made them fight harder and it made them listen to you. That was even more important.

Rangers had a formal command structure just like the rest of the army, but their semi-lax attitude came from the closeness of their soldiers. Two-person teams of snipers and spotters had to depend on each other more than an entire squad did. This was not to suggest that the regulars didn't become a family just like the Rangers, it just happened at a slower pace with so many faces to get to know.

Six felt good that they were with Alpha Company for this very reason. They were a seasoned group, which meant that they were skilled and cared about each other. The more a company cared, the harder they were to kill. If he was to be attacked out in the desert with an NCR escort, he would have picked Alpha.

As the fires burned through the night, Burt bemoaned the presence of the harmonica and the rest of the world went about its nocturnal business. Their distance from the dam meant more critters were scurrying about.

Life found a way, even out in this terrible desert.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, it is time." Claire stood up and pulled out a fistful of bottle caps.

"I have in my hand, two Sunset caps, and various other brands. The two who get the Sunset caps get watch for the night. Last cap in my hand is the cap I get." Brushing off their knees and standing up stiffly, the other Rangers plucked a cap from her hand.

This was the easiest system they could think of for doing watch, other than telling each other to do it. None of them outranked each other so it wasn't like they'd listen to an order given by one or the other. Fate was much more impartial.

Groaning, Six held the Sunset cap up between his thumb and forefinger to indicate he had been picked. Burt swore as he displayed the twin of Six's.

"You know the drill, boys. Six drew first so he gets first watch. Everyone else, get some shut-eye." Claire began to shovel dirt on the fire as the call for Lights Out echoed through the night. Huffing to himself, Six found a large rock near their camp and sat in front of it. Leaning back, he made sure that he had a good view of the area around them before deciding this was a suitable spot to keep guard.

Of course, someone could sneak up behind him and slit his throat, but what was the point of worrying about _everything_? A dormant nuclear device could go off at any moment and destroy them all. An earthquake could happen and open a crevice that he could fall into. Lakelurks could rise from the lake en masse for a feeding frenzy.

The last one was highly unlikely, but still. That'd be scary.

* * *

There it was again. The flash.

Six had been waiting for it this time. Standing up and lifting his goggles above his eyes, he tried to spot just what the source of the light exactly was.

The flashing seemed...timed? There was a pattern to it; he couldn't quite make it out though.

One flash. Two. One. One. Three. Two. One. Or was that another three? One long flash?

"Hey, Six." He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. Whirling about, he pulled his side-arm, a six-shooter revolver, and planted the mouth of the barrel on the chest of the person behind him.

"Dammit, Phil." Locking the hammer forward, he shook his head and let out his caught breath. "What the hell is it?"

"I gotta go."

"Where?" Then he noticed the eager little dance he was doing and his strained face.

"Lord, what am I, your mother? Just go!" Six waved him off and turned back to look out across the lake. It was at a different level than it was the first time, much closer to the water. It definitely was not natural if it had moved.

"Gimme the flashlight," said Phil as he held out his hand.

"What? It's almost daylight!" It was true, it was nearly the exact same time that Six had woken up the day before to find Phil fumbling with the flashlight.

"But-"

"Fine! Take it!" Six shoved the light into Phil's outstretched hand. "When you get back wake up Burt, his watch is up next." Scampering off, Phil muttered a hasty thank you. It didn't strike him until Phil was up the hill they had descended the night before that he should have asked him if the light was what he had seen the day before.

He'd ask him when he got back.

The light had stopped now, and Six was worried. What if that was someone trying to signal them. Trying to ask for help. How would they know? What if it was worse than that?

Minutes passed and Phil's absence became more and more apparent.

The hill was about thirty yards behind him and climbed nearly sixty feet. They'd made their way down it last night because the open desert was welcoming in a terribly gusty wind from the west. Instead of having to work hard with their fires, the lieutenant decided that going down the hill to the shoreline would be a little better and might cut the wind.

He was right.

_CRACK!_

The shot rang out in the dull morning light and Six pulled his side-arm again. Head swiveling back and forth like a terrified bird, his eyes tried to find the source of the noise. His breathing quickened and the kerchief around his mouth clung to his face during each inhale.

"Hey! Hey, get up!" Kicking the closest Ranger to him, he roused her awake. It was Susan, one of the other sharpshooters. "Get everyone up. I heard gunfire." Her eyes widened and she sprung to into action as if he had told her that her clothes were on fire.

One of the other sentries was doing the same thing with his own squad and Six called out loud enough that each sentry down the line relayed the message of gunfire nearby.

Phil. He had forgotten about Phil.

Racing back to the campfire, he grabbed his rifle that lay across his pack. Pulling the bolt back and making sure that it was loaded, he locked it forward and began to head off up the hill.

If the shot came from up there, and that was where Phil had gone, it didn't mean good news.

About thirty feet from the top, he saw them. Seven or so Caesar's Legion soldiers peering down at him from a prone position.


	3. Chapter 3: The Pincer

**Chapter 3: The Pincer**

There was a momentary pause between them. The Legionnaires were not expecting him up there and he was just as stunned as they were. Only the wind broke the silence, a soft breath that stirred the Mojave.

Without thinking, Six dropped to the ground and attempted to scramble down the hill. Shots rang out behind him as the Legionnaires attempted to catch him in the back. The momentum of running downhill carried him faster than he would have liked resulting in tripping and falling, his rifle flying from his grip.

Hands scraping across the dirty ground, cutting open, he swore explosively. Seeing a boulder nearby, he darted for cover behind it and made himself as small as possible. The zing and pop of ricocheting rounds was nearly deafening in his ears as the Legion soldiers continue to pour fire onto his position.

"LEGION!" could be heard down the hill and NCR small arms fire roared in response.

Heavy breathing and sweating had fogged his goggles terribly. Pulling them down over his kerchief, he found his glasses in his front vest pocket, oddly undamaged. Down the hill he could now see Susan taking aim with great care, and then releasing a round. She must have hit something because as soon as she lowered her rifle, she screamed at him.

"Six! Come on, we'll cover you!" Nodding, he searched for where his rifle had landed and spotted it at the base of the hill. Taking in short, shallow breaths, he prepared himself to jump out of cover and race down the hill.

This was the hardest part of a soldier's job, running from cover. You always have a chance of getting shot. Always. But the chance increases exponentially when there isn't something in the bullet's path.

Ducking his head down and praying for a burst of speed, Six shot out from behind the rock towards his companions. Bullets in hot pursuit, he skid to a halt to scoop up his firearm, and then dove next to Susan.

Chancing a look around the side of the rock, he saw that there were several more Legionnaires on the crest of the hill now. The fact that they were sporting guns meant that they weren't new recruits, but seasoned veterans. The NCR soldiers were holding their own, and no one had fallen, but it was a standoff.

Soldiers aiming upwards always aimed a little high of their target. Thankfully, the Legion would have the sun in their eyes, but that meant that both groups were handicapped.

The odds were that the Legion would run out of bullets before the NCR did. So why weren't they fighting harder? It seemed as if they were just taking pot-shots and keeping the soldiers in cover, not aiming to kill.

Claire had moved beside him and Susan ran to meet with her spotter. Her shoulder touching his, she nudged him,

"Did you get a good look of how many there were?" Six shook his head, after taking a glance through his scope. "Damn."

Claire glanced down the line of soldiers and saw that they were all shooting, and that the lieutenant was giving orders, but no one seemed to be gaining headway in the battle.

"Why isn't anyone hitting anything?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, you know what they say, Claire." Locking a round into the chamber of his rifle, Six aimed down his scope. "You want something done right, you do it yourself."

Taking a breath, he held it and steadied himself. He was using the ground to steady himself, but lying prone and aiming up was difficult. He hoped that he would actually make the shot, but he was unsure if he really would.

Then he saw a flash.

To the left of the Legionnaire that he was aiming for, one of them was lying flat on the hill and winking a mirror. Not at him, but somewhere behind him.

Exhaling heavily, the dust in front of him flying off in a cloud, he rolled onto his back. Looking over his chest, he froze in shock.

Across the bank, there were at least three rafts of Legionnaires preparing to cross the river. Claire turned with him and he could hear her gasp softly. They were being flanked. Flanked very artfully and cleverly. Now the lights in the dark made sense to him.

Throwing herself onto her stomach, Claire locked a round and fired at one of the rafts. Six cupped his hands and shouted to the soldiers around him,

"TURN AROUND! RAFTS! RAFTS!" Some heard him and began fire at the makeshift watercraft. Others kept up their slow-dance with the Legionnaires on the hill. Facing forward, confident Claire had the rear and rafts handled, he attempted to even the odds by eliminating the group giving the orders above them.

* * *

Raz hadn't heard the shout warning the rest of the soldiers about the rafts until they were halfway across the river. Swearing to himself he looked up and down his line at who would be the best to handle the forces that came up the beach.

Around him were mainly squads armed with basic rifles, but there were a couple with shotguns and smaller firearms that were more suited to close-quarters-combat.

Fixing a drum to his shotgun, he locked a shell into the chamber and began to decide who would be the best runner to relay his orders outside of his immediate shouting range. The gunfire was making it hard to communicate with everyone, and he'd need someone to run up and down the line to ensure that everyone was on the same page.

"Olsen!" A fresh-faced soldier looked up from behind a large rock and nodded to him. "Olsen, I want you to go to Walsh's squad, White's and Dobbs'. Tell them that they're to focus on the soldiers coming across the river." Olsen nodded and looked over the rock to see if it was safe to run out behind cover.

After a moment, the man bolted from cover and began to relay Raz's orders to the other squad leaders. In the meantime, Raz had to see what the situation was above them with the Legion veterans who were keeping them well occupied.

The biggest problem was that should close fighting break out, the men on the hill could easily begin picking off those who were no longer in cover. Of course, they would have to be careful not to hit their own men, but it was doubtful they would care as much as the NCR might in that situation.

Raz could now see the squads he had chosen turning and firing on the rafts that were nearly at the shore. Several Legionnaires had been hit and were floating lazily in the river, while the rest were paddling furiously to get to land and rush the soldiers.

Thankfully, the Rangers had decided to split themselves and fire on both groups. Their presence alone had taken four of the Legionnaires on the hill and multiple targets on the rafts.

The group that was coming at them had to be at least forty strong, definitely more than they could handle in a hand-to-hand fight with those people on the hill shooting. He had no choice though, he had to give the order to rush them to at least over-power them while they were on the beach and trying to move through the water.

Caesar's Legion armor was heavy, and a little cumbersome if Raz could speculate. Made from what appeared to be old football gear, he could imagine that it didn't offer a lot of movement but gave good protection. What's more, the Legion initiates and grunt soldiers were mainly melee fighters. Judging by the weapons the men on the raft carried, they weren't anything _but_ grunts.

That would give the NCR an advantage, but as soon as the Legion closed the distance between them, it would be down and dirty and hard to gauge who would come out on top.

The first raft slowed to a weak stop as the soldiers began to leap from it. Waist-deep in water, they trudged and wrestled with the liquid to gain purchase and footing on the wet floor of the beach. Rifles began to patter around him as rounds buried themselves in those Legionnaires unlucky enough to be the first ones off the raft.

Raz smiled as his squads nearly decimated the contingent that rode on the first raft. Unfortunately, their fire shifted as the other two rafts made landfall and Legion began to spill forth. Those that survived the first landing were now pushing onto land and bellowing war-cries.

"For Caesar!" they shouted. Raz put himself into a crouching position and readied himself.

"Alright! Squad, on me! Let's push these bastards back across the river." The men and women around him readied themselves into similar stances. Charging forward, he let loose a yell that signaled all the other squads to follow his lead.

The two-headed bear of the NCR was about to do battle with the bull of Caesar's Legion.

* * *

"How are we doing back there?" Six fired off another round that shot an explosion of dust plumed at the top of the hill in front of a Legionnaire's face. Several seconds passed before he heard a rifle shot behind him and Claire responded.

"As well as can be expected. We've hit a few but they're on the beach now. I think you're going to be handling the front on your own in a couple seconds." Six chanced a look behind him to see that the Legion had indeed engaged the NCR forces on the beach.

"You be careful. I can't fight this whole battle myself, you know." Claire laughed and let another round fly before leaping to her feet and rushing forward. Six glanced back once more to see her jam the butt of her rifle into a Legionnaire's face before slamming it down again several times to crack his skull while he writhed on the ground.

Returning his attention to the front, Six realized that the troops on the hill were no longer there. Turning to his left he shouted at one of the squads that hadn't immediately engaged the Legionnaires on the beach.

"Hey!" A woman turned at the sound of his voice and raised her eyebrows in response. Her squad was aiming at the Legion soldiers on the beach carefully, but none of them seemed to be firing any rounds into the crowd for fear of hitting their comrades.

"Hey, what happened to them?" Six pointed up the hill. The woman turned to look, then shrugged at him.

"I dunno! They stopped firing just a moment ago-" before she could say anything more, a bullet ripped through her neck and she fell to her side. Clutching her throat and gasping, she reached for a nearby soldier to help her.

Six turned to the hill just in time to see that the Legionnaires who had previously been using it as a form of cover were now barreling straight towards him and the NCR troopers. There had to be over fifteen of them left, which meant that there were far more than Six had anticipated, and also explained how they had kept up the suppressing fire for so long.

While the NCR outnumbered them, the bulk of their force was otherwise occupied with the Legionnaires on the beaches. Six knew that this fact alone would make these veterans tough to take down, especially with their firearms and close-quarters experience.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, he leapt to his feet and charged forward with his rifle butt at the ready. Others around him had the same idea and joined the fray. In a clash of grunts, smacks and screams, the soldiers met each other midway from where Six had taken cover and the base of the hill.

It was not a pretty fight. Dirt was thrown in eyes, men were kicked between their legs and women had their hair pulled back while their throats were cut. The Legion meant business, but so did the NCR.

Kicking a man in his knee-cap, he drove the stock of his rifle down onto his helmet; a resounding crack greeted his action. While the man fell back, clutching his head, Six brought his rifle down on his throat, crushing the man's windpipe and killing him instantly.

It wasn't until he had pulled back for another swing with his gun that he realized the stock was now broken. Tossing his beloved firearm to the side, he unsheathed a combat knife from the side of his boot and looked for a new target.

Behind him came the growl of a Legionnaire who had snuck up on him. Whirling about, he saw the man plowing into his waist and knocking him to the dirt and gravel. The rocks stung his back and skidding on the hard earth cut him open in several places through his shirt.

Either the Legionnaire had lost his weapon or he had decided that he didn't need it; whatever the reason was, he held a large rock above his head and prepared to smash Six's head open across the Mojave.

Attempting to stab the man in the chest, Six realized his knife had flown from his grip, so instead, he took a swipe at the man's face. It worked well enough to destabilize his attacker enough so that he could roll and look for his knife.

It lay a few feet away from him, just out of reach. As he attempted to crawl over, the Legionnaire gripped his legs and pulled him back, now trying to strangle the life out of him. The man's hands were tight around Six's throat and he could see little spots of black popping into his field of vision as he gasped for air.

While one hand attempted to pry his attacker's hands off his neck, his other wildly flailed for the knife that he had felt momentarily. As his hand came down once more, he could feel the hilt of the blade and gripped it firmly. The Legionnaire must have seen this because one of his hands flew to Six's wrist to stop it from driving the serrated blade deep into his chest.

There they lay, struggling and trying to gain a foothold over the other, each one wanting to end the other's life with all of their might.

* * *

Leveling his shotgun in front of him and taking a few steps to stop himself, Raz let a shell full of buck-shot fly into a knife-wielding Legionnaire dumb enough to run with his weapon held over his head.

It was like he had been hit in the chest by a giant as his forward momentum ceased and he fell flat onto his back. Raz wasn't sure that the armor on the Legionnaire's chest had protected him enough to keep him alive, but he wasn't going to stick around and find out.

Picking another Legionnaire out of the crowd, he pulled the trigger again and this time the buckshot zoomed toward the man's stomach like a pack of angry hornets. He could see the spray of blood bloom out of the wound and the man's screams rose above the din of combat.

Around him, other NCR soldiers were firing off quick shots to Legionnaires who got too close for comfort. However, because they were distracted by who they were shooting at, they forgot the look around them and many of his troops were mobbed by two or three foes from the side or behind.

Raz saw several of his company struck from behind with lead pipes or stabbed numerous times in the back by vicious Legion soldiers.

It went on like this for several minutes. It was only until he realized that the Legionnaires were attacking single soldiers in groups that he saw they were losing ground and being pushed back to the hill. It was even later that he realized the sound of Ranger rifles had died and that they were no longer supplying support.

Dodging a wild swing from a Legionnaire, Raz stepped back and put a shell into the man's knee-cap. Bone and gore flew from the leg and the man clutched the wound as he howled wildly.

Eyes scanning the battlefield, Raz saw that the Rangers had problems of their own.

For whatever reason, the Legion veterans had charged down the hill towards the NCR and engaged the remaining troops. While there weren't very many of them, there were still enough of them to cause problems. With the addition of the grunts, it was definitely chaos.

The Ranger with the kerchief and sunglasses was wrestling with a Legionnaire who had him pinned down on his back. The Ranger's knife was gripped in his left hand while the Legionnaire was pushing his whole weight down to prevent him from driving it up into his body. Next to him a female Ranger was parrying thrusts of blades at her with a rifle.

While focusing on the opponent in front of her she missed a stab from the side, and the machete ran through her stomach and came out her back. The Ranger on the ground bellowed in rage, flipping the Legionnaire on top of him over his head. Scrambling furiously, he drove the knife into the man's chest several times, the blade breaking off in the armor, before leaping to his feet.

It was a futile effort as a grunt sprinted up behind him and swung at his head, killing or incapacitating the Ranger with a wooden baton.

Raz was shocked out of his spectating by a grunt swiping at his arm, which made him stagger back from the force of the blow. The recruit wasn't very good with the pipe, which explained why he hadn't broken Raz's limb, but make it ache horribly.

Ducking under another wild swipe, he shoved his shotgun into the man's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the Legionnaire doubled-over in pain, Raz straightened and let a shotgun shell blast into the man's helmet, making a crater out of the top of the head-piece. Inside he could see the man's skull pulp and squish into its container from the force of the blast.

As the Legionnaire fell, a body behind him was revealed before Raz's eyes. Sergeant White lay on the ground, blood oozing from his mouth and his eyes glazed over. Raz buried a round into a Legionnaire standing over him and went to check on his fallen friend. He was definitely dead as he felt for a pulse. There appeared to be some sort of stab-wound in his chest.

From where he was, he could see that the Veterans' influence on the battle was much more impactful than he realized. Either by overwhelming them or sheer determination, the Legion forces had corralled the NCR into a circle and were picking them off one-by-one.

Jogging to the middle of his troops, Raz tried to embolden them with words of encouragement.

"Steady, Alpha. Keep tight and stay calm!" The Legionnaires around them chuckled as some made threatening gestures and spat at the ground.

"You won't be so cavalier with a slave collar around your neck, soldier-boy." One of the NCR troopers had had enough and charged forward, only to be tackled by two Legionnaires who beat him to death with a pipe and bat. Several Raz's men averted their eyes and one of them swore explosively.

"If you surrender now, we'll take you as slaves and none of you will be harmed." A Legion veteran stepped forward and seemed to be addressing Raz more than anyone. "You've fought valiantly, and you are to be commended for such an effort. But it was futile, nevertheless." He could see that outside of the circle there were several Legionnaires field-stripping dead-bodies and tying up the wounded NCR that still lived.

"Like hell. You Legion dogs make the same promises. Ones you can't keep." Raz spat on the ground and stood proud among those still standing of Alpha Company, all eleven of them left in the circle. His words put some lead in their spines and they all seemed to get their nerve back.

"So be it," whispered the same Veteran. As if on cue, the entire force descended upon them. Raz was struck from behind and pinned there. His head smacked against the ground and the world became fuzzy and muffled. Raising his head, he could see the Legion killing and capturing the rest of his company.

Before he could cry out in anger, his mouth not responding to his brain's dull commands, the world went black, and he knew nothing more.


	4. Chapter 4: Cottonwood Cove

**Chapter 4: Cottonwood Cove**

Raz awoke to the gentle sound of water moving lazily along. Blinking his eyes, he tried to let them adjust to the bright light in front of his face gradually. It wasn't until he tried to shield his eyes with his hand that he realized he was bound by his wrists and feet.

Turning his head to the right, he noticed he wasn't the only one in such a state. Several of his soldiers lay next to him in varying states of binding, and all of them were aboard what he believed was one of the rafts the Legionnaires had taken to shore. There were significantly less Legionnaires now to fit all of the NCR on the watercraft, but a quick survey of the water around them told him that the other rafts had his people on them.

Gripping large staves and pushing their way down the river, the Legionnaires were silent as they worked. It was an odd sort of peacefulness that hid the underlying danger of the situation.

Wherever they were headed, Raz and his people were most surely going to be slaves, or worse, dead. NCR prisoners were not uncommon in a Legion attack, but more often than not, it wasn't worth the trouble to fight a trooper and convince them to lay down and be captured. There were enough examples of that back on the beach where Raz and his people made their stand.

It had to be past midday by the height of the sun. Its location also meant they were going...South?

_Why South? What's down there?_

Despite his confusion, Raz tried to analyze the situation accordingly. He _was_, after all, the commanding officer here. For the sake of those under his command, he needed to be the most informed. Their fear and confusion would break them and if he couldn't rally them, it would be all over when they arrived wherever it was they were going.

Twisting on the floor, he saw a Legion soldier lazily pushing the raft in-time with the rest of his comrades. Unsure if he would be hit if he asked questions, or if he would get a response at all, Raz sat there for a moment just watching the Legionnaire work.

Under normal circumstances, if another human stared at someone else for this long, the object of the staring would either become uncomfortable or angry. Either Raz's height on the ground or due to the fact that the Legionnaire didn't care about him, the man didn't seem to notice the eyes fixed intently on him.

A shout down the river seemed to rouse the man's resolve as he began to work harder at his station. Raz saw that the rest of the Legionnaires, as well as those on other rafts began to do the same.

Another shout, this time it seemed to come from above them. Twisting and wriggling on the planks of the raft, Raz tried to find the source of the noise. After a few moments, he spotted a man perched on a cliff high above the river, waving to the men on the rafts. He was dressed in similar armor, if a little lighter and less constricting. A lookout or scout.

_We must be getting close to our destination_ he thought.

Several minutes passed and the men propelling the rafts began to struggle with the shallowing water. Moments later, pairs of the Legionnaires leapt from the rafts to help land them ashore. The jostling of the craft rolled Raz forward and before he could stop himself he fell overboard and into the water.

Bound and tied, he could do nothing but sink to the bed of the river. His futile struggling and thrashing only served to make clouds of bubbles underneath the surface. A few feet away were the legs of a Legionnaire wading through the water, clearly not interested in saving him.

Despite his poor eyesight underwater, he tried to kick out at the man's knees. He must have struck home because he felt something solid connect with his foot. A few moments later strong hands breached the water and pulled him up roughly.

Sputtering and coughing up the lake from his lungs, Raz tried to take deep breaths. It didn't help that the Legionnaire holding him up by his vest cracked him across his face. Dark spots popped in his field of vision, either from lack of oxygen or from near concussion.

"These NCR idiots make me laugh," spat the Legionnaire. "Didn't know he couldn't swim when his hands were tied up." Another Legion soldier reached below the water and gripped Raz's ankles. The two men tossed him onto the rock-strewn beach, the small stones cutting into his uniform and skin.

His roll was stopped suddenly, causing more cuts into his left arm where he was supporting his weight. The foot, which was what had stopped him, pushed him roughly onto his chest. His wet skin was now plastered with dirt and grime from the beach.

A tall man, dressed in full Legionnaire armor stared down at him through mirrored frames. A helmet topped with colored feathers that rustled in the wind adorned his head. Even though his face was covered, he could tell the man was grinning wickedly beneath the cloth that was over his mouth. Raising one knee up, he brought his foot down on Raz's face, and it was dark again.

* * *

Another foot woke him from his unconscious state. This one greeted him in his stomach. Instinctively doubling over in pain, Raz coughed and groaned. His gasping and wheezing brought dusty air into his lungs, which caused a choking fit that was almost worse than the kick.

"Get up, slave!" This foot raced to his back and the sharp pain in his muscles caused him to spasm. "UP!" The voice came from above and rasped the words out at him.

As Raz attempted to scramble to his feet, two pairs of hands gripped under his arms and helped him stand. Looking on either side of him he saw two of his soldiers, dressed in rags and covered in cuts and bruises.

Finally getting his legs steady underneath him, Raz saw that he and his soldiers seemed to be in a drill square in the midst of a complex of tents and small buildings. Each man and woman was dressed similarly, but spaced in a circle around them were dozens of Caesar's Legion. Each guard had a small blade and a firearm ready for use.

"Now that you maggots are all awake, it's time for your orientation." A chuckle rippled through the men in Legion armor as the man who had struck Raz began to speak, casually pacing in front of the NCR prisoners. He was dressed in full Legion regalia with a feathered helmet.

"You are all now slaves for the glorious army of Caesar's Legion. You will provide service, labor, fulfill any obligation that you are ordered to do and most of all," the man turned on his heel where he was and backhanded one of Raz's soldiers hard. "You will be expected to obey."

Raz's people rushed to help the fallen man, his lip busted open and bleeding profusely. The Legionnaire barked out at them and fired a single shot up into the air. All movement stopped and the new slaves looked to their driver, eyes wide and mid-motion.

"Do not help him. You are not a unit, a company or a squad anymore. You are slaves! You have no identity! No brotherhood! No friends! You belong to us." One of the soldiers who was helping their fallen comrade shook her head and resumed her attempts. The slave master stepped forward once and shot the stricken man straight in the chest with his pistol.

The young woman stared at the bullet wound, slowly oozing blood onto her fingers. Raz began to step forward to help calm her, but before he could she rushed at the Legionnaire, screaming in fury, fingers outstretched for the man's throat.

Stepping back deftly, the man avoided her onslaught as if she were a child. Raz knew the woman well, she had been under his command for some time now and that was because she was a fierce fighter. But despite her skill, the Legionnaire was far better.

Some of the others assembled tried to step forward to aid her, but the resulting sound of guns being cocked and leveled stopped them in their tracks. The Legion could always get more slaves, and they wouldn't have to kill all of them, just enough to scare them into submission and to convince them that any sort of struggle was pointless.

As the woman kept swiping and punching, her target continued to evade and dance about her. The cat and mouse game before them all was becoming sad and pitiful. She was tired, breathless, and her attacks were no longer even close to the mark.

Eventually, she threw herself at him in one last ditch attempt, her body falling limply into the dust after a short time in the air. She looked up at the slave master with eyes that could light brush into an inferno. Her hatred palpable. As he stepped forward, she spat on the ground at his feet just before he leveled his pistol, and placed a round in her skull.

Seeing someone die in battle is common for any soldier. The struggle for survival and death define war. But watching someone die like this, like an animal, was sickening. Raz's upper lip twitched in a sick grimace and many of his comrades looked away. If they could avert their eyes, the pain might not be so bad.

Stepping on the woman's lifeless body, the Legionnaire ground his heel into her back. "I'm so glad that we've had this educational demonstration." His voice was calm, even-tempered, and almost soothing.

"You will be divided by gender, and then skill. You will work, or you will die." Taking a step off of the body and turning his back on the new slaves, he threw a shout over his shoulder as he left the assembly area.

"Welcome to Cottonwood Cove."


	5. Chapter 5: Betrayal

Pain.

Pain was nothing new to Six-Eyes, but he was feeling a lot of it in a lot of different places.

His wrists were tied behind him, very expertly and tightly; tight enough to cut into his skin if he even dared to move. The back of his head throbbed from the blow he sustained when fighting the Legionnaires and whatever he was sitting on was the least comfortable thing in the world.

Opening his eyes, the first thing he realized was that he had no eyewear on. Squinting into the dim torchlight of what appeared to be a canvas tent, Six attempted to crane his neck around to survey his surroundings.

He was tied to a post in the middle of the tent, that much was certain, and he wasn't alone. Next to him was Burt, hands bound similarly to another support pole, but the black trail of dried blood that lead from his mouth onto his clothing was the most disturbing thing.

Six tried to nudge his comrade with his foot, but found that he couldn't reach him. Looking to his left, he saw Susan. Her hair was dirty and mussed, cuts lined her face and many parts of her clothes were torn. He couldn't tell if she was alive or dead.

Before them was the tent flap, two footlockers and the torches that lit the interior. The dull, ruddy light cast shadows in bizarre places and forms. Six was having difficulty seeing out the flaps due to their movement, but he could tell that it was definitely night. Voices that emanated from the outside world could be heard, and he knew that they were in the heart of whatever or wherever they were.

A pair of voices began to grow louder, as well as footsteps, and Six strained his ears to try and hear any piece of information that would indicate their location or the status of Alpha Company and the other Rangers.

"I'm telling you that you have no authority here. Do you not understand that?" They weren't speaking in hushed tones. Either they had transcended the need for discretion, or this was an ongoing argument.

The owner of the voice stormed into the tent, brushing the flaps aside violently and staring pointedly at Six and his companions. He had a shaved head and darker skin, not black but tanned by the sun. His eyes narrowed at the Rangers, and then a cruel smile played across his lips.

"I won't lie. The opportunity to break Rangers is tempting for me. But Aurelius has made it quite clear that no one is to touch them, not even me. I had to be content with watching one of my subordinates work over those pitiful NCR grunts this morning." The smile quickly disappeared into a scowl as he turned to look at the person he was speaking to outside of the tent.

"Look, I get it. I just want to see them, Canyon Runner. I want to make sure they're alright. My compensation hinges on their survival." The voice was familiar to him, but with the tent muffled it and there was very little to help him identify the owner.

There was a momentary pause between the two of them and Six held in a breath, not wanting to miss a single word. Whatever they said, he needed to know how it was connected to the NCR soldiers and the other Rangers.

"They are well enough for our purposes. This is all that you may know at this time. From this point on you are a guest of the Legion and what you are told and what you are given is a courtesy due to the arrangement between you and command. The rest of the soldiers will be given their duties here at the Cove, but these will be retained for their original purpose, as per the agreement." Canyon Runner had made his stand. Whatever the other man's response was, he didn't voice it, but they both walked off in the same direction.

Despite his being tied up and injured, Six was filled with a sense of relief. The three of them in that tent were not the only ones alive. There were others. And if there were others, they could escape.

* * *

Raz sat in the center of the circle of men, drawing on the ground with his now blistered and sunburnt hand. They had gathered intel while out on their individual duties around the cover and were now relaying what they had learned so that they could devise a plan of escape.

Their biggest problem was that the women were kept separate from them at night, probably in an effort to ensure that there was no chance of feelings to develop and relationships to blossom. Or it was just an effort to keep them separate because they were easier to handle in smaller groups. One of his more trusted soldiers, Ken, had taken a chance at following some of the women as they were lead to their holding area.

The bruise on his face told Raz that he didn't evade notice, but he had done his job and the man did not regret it.

"They're being held on the opposite side of the big building," Ken pointed to the eastern side of a structure Raz had outlined in the dirt. "I can't imagine their living conditions are better than ours. I doubt they'll be left alone all night like we are as well."

A solemn silence fell over the men as they thought about the brutality and savage nature of Legionnaires towards slaves. They would merely beat and kill the men, but the women were more likely in for a worse fate as they were kept alive for entertainment and work.

If Raz had his way, they would be out of there before that would happen. He hoped, at least.

The women could take care of themselves, they were soldiers after all. Not to mention the Legionnaires would have to outnumber them and possibly hurt them severely for them to take advantage of the women, which might spoil their fun.

Raz smiled inwardly at the thought of the first fool Legionnaire who entered their presence thinking he'd be too strong for them.

_He'd be in for a hell of a surprise. He might even think twice about it next time if they don't kill him right off._

They talked for some time more about their jobs around the camp, what they were assigned to do, for whom, and why. It seemed that the Legion was trying to dig in rather seriously to this location and make permanent residence.

In the day they had been there, they hadn't learned much more information than that, which didn't surprise Raz, but he had hoped to learn more than what they had. It wasn't his soldiers' fault. It was more that the security was tight around the camp and the Legion was vigilant in their watch over their new slaves.

It could take days for them to get the lay of the land and find the weaknesses in the encampment. They clearly weren't going to climb up the walls of the cove to the flat desert above. Neither could they simply make a run for it up the hill. Sharp-shooters could pick them off too easily. Going to the river might be helpful, but again, they had no idea where they were and heading and the Colorado could put them further away from help and deeper in the Legion territory than they wanted.

Whatever they did, it had to be a combined effort, which meant that Raz still had to take charge. This wasn't the type of situation he had been trained for and he didn't relish the opportunity. But the fact of the matter was, if he didn't take charge, the soldiers could easily become disillusioned by the fact that they could not trust him to take control. Their efforts wouldn't be coordinated and they may even give up.

Or worse, someone else could challenge him for command and the slaves could be split between leadership.

"First order of business is letting the women know we haven't forgotten them. We need to tell them everything we know, and as quickly as possible."

"I'll do it." A younger soldier raised his hand and nodded. Raz gave him a grateful look and returned the nod.

"Alright, next we need to start taking stock of what we have in the camp to work with. How many weapons the Legion has. What supplies. Is there anything flammable? Where do they get _their_ supplies." The group around him murmured in affirmation.

"The more we know about what they're doing here and _why_, the more we can use that to our advantage. We can target what's important to them and use that as a distraction. We get _everyone_ out of here. And we get home. Understood?"

A soft "Yessir" from the men told him that they did.

"Sir?" Raz turned to see a soldier behind him raising his hand.

"Yes, shoot."

"What about the Rangers?" The group fell silent and looked to the man.

"The Rangers?" The man nodded and drew a square near the large structure on the dirt.

"I saw a few of them, maybe three or four, dragged into a tent near here." All eyes were glued to the crude dirt schematic of the cove.

"Were they alive?" Raz returned his gaze to the soldier who met it.

"I think so, sir. They looked to be in pretty bad shape."

Raz took a moment. Obviously they would have to rescue them. But, if they were indeed injured, that would be a lot of dead weight for them to travel with. It would also mean they would need to steal more supplies, which could slow them down. Regardless, they had to be helped.

"Well," exhaled Raz. "Then we get them too."

* * *

A different kind of pain roused Six-Eyes this time. Not the dull ache from the back of his head. Not the pain in his legs. It was from natural light.

It had been some time since his eyes had full contact with the sun, if indirectly, without eyewear. The morning was not forgiving with both heat and light, and the tent flap's constant fluttering had created a pulsing light that slapped him in the face.

Blinking roughly, unable to clear the sleep and dirt from his eyes, Six sighed and surveyed the tent again. Burt hadn't moved, neither had Susan, which did not assuage his fears that they were severely injured.

Heavy footsteps outside the tent caught his attention. The flap whipped aside and bright light assaulted his eyelids as he had clamped them down over his eyeballs just in time. Whoever it was dragged their feet a lot and moved to Six's left and right. Each time they did so, they stopped for a few moments. Not wanting to risk the element of surprise, he remained motionless and kept his breathing normal, as if he was trying to wait for a desert predator to pass him by.

"How are they?" A voice coming from the front of the tent inquired within and the man, now at Six's left, responded.

"The woman is dead, and the other man is alive." Six's heart dropped at hearing those words. _Poor Susan_, he thought. "We were too rough with her during the interrogation."

"Better us than Leon." The man at the front of the tent made a disapproving noise. "I don't know _what_ he does with all those women he gets his hands on." There was a grunt of acknowledgement from the other man. And then he spoke up again.

"Bring the other one in here. Let him see what's happened to these two. Maybe he'll be more," there was a pause as Six imagined the man eyeing their three bodies in the tent, "Receptive." The man at the front of the tent turned on his heel and left. The other stayed put, silently looking over their forms.

Six's blood was cold at the thought of having been next to Susan's lifeless body for hours, not being able to help her into a more comfortable and respectful position as her body stiffened from the lack of warmth. Though, thinking of it now, he should have guessed her condition purely by the smell in the tent. He was hoping that had been himself or Burt unconsciously relieving themselves in their sleep.

Susan's death brought back the memory of Claire's on the field of battle. Seeing her run through like that, it shook him to his core.

Losing your spotter is like losing a part of yourself, your other half. Watching his go down in a blaze of glory was fitting, but it brought down such a haze of anger and pain he lost focus and was caught from behind.

The memories alone had gotten his blood pumping again, and he was swearing revenging in his brain on the man that had killed her, when a familiar voice broke the fog of his mind.

"What happened to her? What did you do?" The voice didn't reach him fully until her had actually opened his eyes. There was Phil, concern written all over his face for the death of Susan.

Then his eyes met Six's.

"I-I thought you said they were asleep." Six could visibly see his hands trembling and the two Legionnaires next to him chuckled.

"What does it matter? Now you know that this might not work out for them if they don't give us what we want, soldier." The man on Phil's left clapped a hand on his shoulder. The man to his right brought his face close to his ear and murmured softly.

"You should convince them to cooperate, friend." He pushed Phil forward roughly and he landed on his knees in front of Six, his pale face plastered with sweat and fear. His lips worked up and down, as if trying to say something, to explain himself. "After all, if they don't deliver," Phil looked back at them, "Your agreement is null and void, isn't it?"

Returning his gaze to the bound man, Phil blinked tears of fear out of his eyes. Six only stared at him, never breaking eye contact. He wanted to convey all his hatred, all of his anger to this man. This man, who turned in his brothers and sisters for some kind of deal, this coward, this traitor.

Six-Eyes would kill this man. And he would do it with a smile on his face and blood on his hands.


End file.
